Just about halfway drunk
by Consulting Hetalian
Summary: FrUK smut one-shot. Yaoi. England has a few days off so he visits France, who is drunk, which we all know has consequences. I really suck at summaries, apologies for that. Not for the kiddos. England tops (seme!Arthur).


Okay, welcome. This was a request from my friend (you know who you are, did i mention you're awesome?).

It's just smut, with barely any plot, so if you don't like gay men doing their thing, turn around.

Pairing is FrUK (France x England), with England topping (how hipster of me).

Enjoy!

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It was pretty coincidental that they met on that evening, or that they both were drunk, or that they both were frustrated.

France had been to a small bar and flirted with a very pretty girl, only to find out that she had a boyfriend. He then left the bar, having drunk enough to steal away a good part of his reasoning.

England had actually been trying to find France. He had a couple of days off nation duties, a kind of holiday, and had actually planned to visit France because he was close. However, the blonde had neither been in his parisian apartment, nor in any of the bars that he usually frequented. So, England was a little drunk and very frustrated when he crashed into the very person he'd been looking for, which didn't register at first.

"Ah, I'm sorry, I-"

"Non, don't be, I didn't pay attention-"

"Francis?"

"Yes, that's... Oh, Arthur, it's youuu..."

"You're drunk."

"On the best french wine, mon ami..."

England rolled his eyes. "Let's get you to your apartment. Come on." He ignored the french stuff the semi-drunk man was saying and pulled him through the streets.

Once the two were in the apartment, France plonked down on a low couch, patting the space next to him. England sat.

"So, what brings my wonderful Angleterre here?"

"I have a few days off and I wanted to travel a bit."

The Frenchman scooted closer and looked into England's green eyes.

"Why are you here, Angleterre? You could have gone to a hotel, yet you're sitting in my apartment, on my couch..."

England glanced around uneasily. "We're both nations. I can't let you run around out there while you're that drunk, you'll only get stupid ideas."

"Aaah. My little Angleterre, so mature. But if you were drunk enough, you'd like the ideas too," France murmured in a low voice. He was sitting close to England, their thighs nearly touching, but not quite.

"Bloody hell, you git. I ran into you and you were drunk, what do you expect me to do?"

"Get drunk," France replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, smiling a little and trailing a finger down Arthur's upper arm.

"Yeah, you'd like that," England muttered moodily, trying to ignore how close the Frenchman was.

"...yeah, I would, in fact, like that."

"Get lost."

The two of them sat in silence for a few seconds until France spoke up.

"Angleterre?"

"Hm-m?"

"Fancy a glass of wine?"

"Bloody hell, you're already drunk enough!"

"Not me, you... Also I'm not that drunk. Just about halfway. Angleterre, you're much more relaxed when you're a little drunk..." France was staring at England with a strange expression, then started smiling again and trailed a finger over England's knee and up his thigh.

"You're semi-drunk, you need to go to bed," the Brit deadpanned.

With a wolfish grin, France smoothly replied, "Want to come too?"

Not waiting for a reply, he leaned in and brushed his lips against England's, feeling the Brit freeze for a second.

It hadn't been that much of a surprise to him since France was very drunk and it was no secret he tended to kiss people when he was drunk, but England was still a little shocked. When he recovered about two seconds later, he found that his heart rate was only going up and that he was parting his lips, tilting his head, giving in to the very gentle assault.

France took that as a sign of approval. He slipped his tongue into England's mouth, leisurely exploring, tasting the wine Arthur had drunk not long ago, when the Brit suddenly had a hand in France's hair and was kissing him back hard. The Frenchman groaned contently when England pulled him back by his hair and started kissing down his neck, even biting a little. His trousers were beginning to feel a little tight.

"The way you just try to get anyone when you're drunk, even me, and the infuriating way it even works," the Brit hissed, sucking a mark onto France's pale skin.

France's breathing hitched. "You're not anyone... You're Angleterre, stubborn Angleterre with the bright green eyes... You've never just been anyone." The confession surprised even himself.

That was unexpected. England was touched. "I do think you need to get drunk more often..." he remarked before kissing France again, who sighed in agreement.

Somehow France slipped backwards in a drunk yet somehow elegant way, dragging England down with him by his shoulders until he was on the couch and the Brit above him, keeping himself up with one hand, the other still in France's hair. They had to break the kiss to catch their breath when England decided to think about the situation.

Here he was, on top of a drunk and horny Frenchman, on a couch in a parisian apartment.

It sort of felt like he was taking advantage of France when he was drunk like this...

Honestly, he could totally live with that right now.

France noticed England holding still for a second. Was his Brit getting doubts now? Mon dieu, he worried too much. The Frenchman grinned a little and ground his hips up against England's, the unexpected motion drawing a small hiss from the green-eyed one.

"France..."

"Oui, Angleterre?"

"This is a white couch."

"Oui, it is."

"Is there a need to move somewhere else?"

Frace ground up again, holding back a groan. It was so good, so warm, with England right there, not fighting him, not squabbling for once.

"I don't know, is there?"

"Bloody hell." England shifted the hand fisted in the blonde hair down to France's neck and bit his neck, making him moan quietly, then suddenly sat up, pulling France with him.

"Listen, I am not as drunk as you, but I did have some, so don't test me."

"Doesn't that depend on the test, Angleterre?" France's fingers wandered to England's shirt, a nice white button-down, and began unbuttoning it while kicking off his own slippers.

"I suppose so," England mumbled, leaning against the back of the couch and tilting back his head as France trailed kisses down his neck and chest, slowly removing the shirt.

When the it fell to the floor somewhere, France attempted to have a go at England's belt, but was held back by two hands around his wrists.

"I do think we should move this."

France nodded and stood up, tugging England with him, out of the living room and into his spacious bedroom with the king-size bed and the large window that had such a lovely view of Paris.

Over the course of their journey to the bedroom, England lost his shoes and France his shirt. They fell onto the bed together, kissing passionately. France's fingers started tugging the Brit's belt again and England spoke up.

"France?"

"Oui, Angleterre?"

"C-call me Arthur."

France's gaze softened and he smiled, finally overcoming the belt and tossing it into a corner.

"Call me Francis."

Arthur hummed in agreement and wriggled out of his trousers with Francis's help, then sat up and helped the Frenchman out of his. They locked lips again passionately, relishing in the friction of skin on skin as Francis pushed Arthur down onto his back and only stopped when they were both gasping for air, Francis starting to trail little kisses down Arthur's throat, his pale chest and flat stomach until his path was obstructed by boxers. Swiftly he slipped them off, trailing his fingers back up Arthur's thighs, over his stomach and down again, deftly skipping around the place they were wanted most. The Brit was breathing heavily, shivers shooting up and down his spine, his cock jutting out into the air without the restricting fabric.

"Bloody hell... Stop teasing, Francis!" he snarled through clenched teeth.

The Frenchman chuckled. "Onhonhon~ Always so impatient, are we?"

Arthur sharply sucked in a breath when a warm, wet heat engulfed his cock. He looked down to see Francis, his long golden hair falling over his half-lidded eyes, making eye contact with him, lips wrapped around Arthur's member, hands on Arthur's hips, his own arousal obvious in his boxers. The Brit thought he looked gorgeous.

However, he couldn't hold eye contact. When Francis started sucking in earnest, cheeks hollowing and bobbing his head, tasting precome on the back of his tongue, Arthur threw back his head and arched his back and moaned, a long sinful moan that ended in a ragged gasp.

"Ah! Francis! So good!"

The Frechman hummed, making Arthur whine. He let his teeth scrape along Arthur's cock just the smallest bit for more friction.

"Francis, I'm gonna-"

With a wet pop, Francis pulled off his lips. "So eager, Arthur! Onhonhon~ But do you really want it to end so soon?"

"No..." Arthur sighed and sat up, drawing Francis in for a hot kiss. He tasted himself mixed with wine on the other's tongue, strange but not entirely unpleasant.

Now it was Arthur's turn to push the other down onto the matress, slipping off Francis's boxers slowly and wrapping his fingers around his hard member. He started stroking leisurely and sucking just the tip, making Francis groan and say stuff in French that he wouldn't have understood anyways even if his French was better. Satisfied with the reaction, he took in a few more centimetres.

"More, Arthur! Anh~" Francis whined.

Arthur stopped sucking and tilted his head to the side.

"Ah! Why'd you stop?" The Frenchman bucked into Arthur's hand.

"How much more do you want?" Green eyes half-lidded, blonde hair in disarray, voice down to a seduvtive whisper. Arthur looked gorgeous.

With a twinkle in his eyes, Francis stretched out an arm towards the nightstand, rummaging around in a drawer blindly until he found a small tube that he flipped to Arthur.

It was lube. The Brit gave a questioning look.

"What? Everyone says I'm a pervert, oui, and yet you're still surprised there's lube in my drawer?" Francis complained.

"Ssh, darling." Arthur uncapped the lube and put some on the fingers of his right hand. "Open up," he murmured, nudging Francis's legs apart with his left. He met the Frenchman's lewd eyes as he resumed sucking his cock to distract him. He experimentally pressed his index finger to Francis's entrance. The man tensed up as it slipped inside, feeling the intrusion, and moaned quietly.

"Deep breaths," the Brit advised, pulling off for a second. "Relax."

Obediently Francis tried to relax and slow his breathing. The resistance lessened a little and Arthur pushed in further until he was knuckle-deep. He wrapped his lips around the Frenchman's member again, his own throbbing a little as he slipped a second finger in along the first. Carefully, Arthur wiggled and scissored them to get Francis stretched properly, and he was searching for that particular spot that would make the french man forget the burning pain.

"Come on, mon amour. Give me one more," Francis groaned.

Smiling around the cock in his mouth, Arthur worked in a third finger.

He held still for a few seconds to give the frenchman time to adjust, but Francis was already pushing back onto his fingers, wriggling his hips when he suddenly yelped and bucked into Arthur's mouth.

The Brit nearly choked, but realised that he probably hit Francis's prostate. He firmly planted his left hand on his lover's slim hips and aimed for that spot again.

"Mon dieu!"

...and again.

"Ah, Arthur! Please!"

With an audible pop, he pulled his lips off Francis's member and smiled lecherously as he pushed his fingers into the same spot again.

"Please what?"

"Pl- Aahh!"

"What did you say?"

"Please! Fuck me!"

"Why didn't you say so right away?"

With a mocking smile, Arthur pulled his fingers out. Francis whined at the feeling of emptiness and lifted his head to see the Brit kneeling on the bed with the lube in his hand, slicking up his cock. He crawled back and knelt between Francis's thighs, hooking a leg over his shoulder.

"Ready?"

"Arthur, _please_!"

"As you wish."

Arthur pushed in slowly, gasping as the sensation. His skin tingled and it just felt bloody amazing, so tight and warm... Francis looked beautiful, his golden hair in complete disarray, head thrown back, breathing heavily, a few beads of sweat glistening on his brow.

He stopped about halfway to give the Frenchman time to adjust.

"You okay?"

"One second. Feels amazing, but it burns. How much?"

"About half."

Francis grunted and took a deep breath.

"Oui, it's fine, I need more."

Arthur let Francis's leg slide down and bent forward, pressing his lips against Francis's throat where a frantic pulse was racing, pushing his hips further until he was completely buried inside him. The tightness nearly drove him crazy, but he kept still again, letting the other get used to it.

Why had the Brit stopped again? Francis opened his eyes and looked at his lover, who was watching him with concern.

"Francis, you okay?"

"I will be once you start moving!"

"Like this?"

With a teasing smile, Arthur bucked his hips a little. Francis threw back his head in pleasure. The burn was fading, the pleasure was starting to outweigh the pain.

"OH! More!"

"How much more do you want?"

Francis stared into his lover's emerald eyes.

"Give me everything you've got."

Arthur returned the stare, his gaze burning with passion. The smile turned into a smirk as he grabbed the other Nation's hips and pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, with a very fair idea of the location of Francis's sweet spot. His lover moaned, but he didn't quite hit it. So he let go of Francis's hips, leaned forward, propping himself up on his elbows and snapped his hips forwards again. This time, Francis shouted his name, his hands shooting up and clinging to the Brit.

Arthur set a brisk pace, firmly pounding into a moaning, wailing and begging Francis, nailing his prostate with every hit. The Frenchman was bucking his hips, meeting every single of his thrusts, clinging to his lover like his life depended on it, legs wrapped around him. Heat was coiling in Arthur's stomach and he knew he was close, but he was determined to make Francis come, so he reached down and started pumping his lover's cock with in time with his movement. For a few seconds they hovered on the very edge together, both moaning aloud, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room.

It didn't take long for Francis to come, shouting Arthur's name and splattering their chests with sticky white liquid. The tightening of his climax was enough to send Arthur spinning over the edge and he moaned as he came inside Francis.

Arthur pulled out and relaxed, Francis wrapping his arms around him, not minding the come they were covered in. Both spent and exhausted, they lay in each other's embrace for a few seconds trying to catch their breath.

"That was bloody amazing."

"So I should get drunk more often?"

"Only when I'm around to get you home and sit on your couch."

France chuckled and wiped them off with the corner of a blanket. Then he pulled the covers over them, keeping an arm around Arthur.

"So, how long did you say you were staying in France?"

* * *

Be nice to me, this is my first time writing real smut and not just some implied stuff! Please review!


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